An Attempt at Fixing My Immortal
by ooihcnoiwlerh
Summary: So I recently read "My Immortal." The editor in me wanted to salvage it into something slightly more readable. Here is the result.


I wasn't aware of the "My Immortal" fic until recently. Odd, I know. And it was hilarious, horrible, and everything terrible in fanfiction incarnate. Maybe it's the editor in me, maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I got this urge to do what's been done before and try to rewrite this story and mold it into something, well, better. Ebony Way is still spoiled and sometimes narcissistic and Draco is still the primary love interest (although I admit I am not attracted to Draco Malfoy or Tom Felton at all) and there are a few vampire references, but some plot points are gone and there's a bit of a prologue to deal with. Oh, and she's a year ahead of Draco. Also, I keep imagining Ebony (in this) to look like the beautiful Kat Dennings.

**Prologue**

Ebony Calliope Way was the product of Pureblood breeding in a family not entirely free from rumors about her heritage and persistent rumors that she had Vampire and possibly Veela blood swimming around in her veins and the dubious distinction of having parents who worked in Wizard-Muggle international relations, and perhaps a few whispered accusations of "blood traitor" that were covered up by money and ambition.

She was beautiful; in a family that was probably meant to intermarry with other inbred, wealthy Purebloods this was a definite plus. Her soft, ivory skin would never be marred by acne and her thick, shiny hair was a contrasting shade of brown so rich and dark it appeared to be black. She had steel-grey eyes framed by thick lashes, high cheekbones and bee-stung full red lips that were usually pursed in concentration or lifted in a teasing smile. She was on the short side but this was fine; when she developed she would grow to have full, soft curves, a narrow waist and shapely limbs, feeling a guilty pleasure for the attention it got her from wizards (and perhaps a few witches) of various ages. She wasn't naïve, not really. She knew she would be preened to be a trophy wife for some old money family. She knew that, in spite of the progress that had been made for witches in the past few decades, her looks and her charm would be what helped her the most. And so while she was not naïve, she was most certainly quite vain.

There was the matter of her lineage, which, as previously stated, was often brought to scrutiny. She learned from her parents how to dodge it most effectively. She was raised to nurture her body and brain and to act like a lady, to prepare herself to become someone's toy.

Still, her parents by no means discouraged her from concentrating on her studies, and to attain as much knowledge as she could before living an adult life of domesticity. Her parents were both intellectuals who before the start of her first year encouraged her to become an excellent student simply for the joy of learning, and she was eager to do so. From the moment the Sorting Hat recognized her intellect, her competitive nature and almost ruthless sense of ambition and sorted her into Slytherin, she made the most of her brains and her drive. She strove to outdo her classmates, many of whose parents—at least in her house-liked to spread rumours that her mother or grandmother or grandfather or whoever was a vampire. She managed to ensure that she would have few friends, save for a girl in her year named Mallory Salazar, who while not as academically driven, was sarcastic and clever to the point of being almost misanthropic. They hit it off immediately. Pessimism, they both reasoned, was simply realism in an unpleasant world.

She rose to the top of her class and took satisfaction without remorse in how teachers praised her maturity over others her age, and thought it was lovely that there were Slytherins brought up without the silly doctrine that all Muggle-borns were second class citizens. She pointedly ignored whispers of "Teacher's Pet" and went about her business.

Second year was decidedly less pleasant. It was the year that she had to babysit a first year she sometimes had to play with as a young child, the son of a man her parents (well, more her mother; with her father it was more of a grudging business relationship) loathed behind a façade of forced politeness. Mr. Lucius Malfoy and Mrs. Raven Way often opposed each other in public debates, leaving the rest of the Wizarding world enjoying the irony of two mercenary, wealthy Pureblood families who didn't kiss each other's asses.

Draco was, if anything, worse. He had all the same sense of entitlement and flare for gossip as his father with none of the eloquence or presence. He was all hot air; a shitless little kid spouting off everything his father said and, as a deal with both sets of parents, she helped watch over him his first year. This meant she had to put up with endless complaints about Harry fucking Potter and his goody-two-shoes friends Granger and Kneazle, or whoever the third one was called. It took her ages to realize the third one was related to a pair of mischievous twin Gryffindors in the year above her and she guaranteed the end of little Malfoy's complaints, bragging, and awkward flirtation when she finally said, "Aren't Weasley's third year brothers hilarious? Pretty clever, too; for Gryffindors, anyway."

Her third year, Draco was taken in by the House Quidditch team, leaving Ebony free to study in peace. The only time they spoke was when he called her a traitor for having the audacity to take a Muggle Studies course. She started learning to flirt, started learning to charm the fit of her uniforms to better accommodate her already-womanly body. However, and as though she already knew Draco would later become an important fixture in her life, she remembered their interactions after that quite well.

One night in her fourth year while she was trying to study for a Charms test and racing one spare quill against the other on the coffee table, the peace of the Slytherin Common Room was interrupted by Draco and his minions.

"…And my father will know about it. That you can be sure!" he said to the guffawing of the brain-dead chunks of flesh on either side of him.

_My father will know about it_. One of the most frequent phrases Draco used. The boy's father had tried to get Dumbledore sacked through blackmail the previous year and this year there was this business about some so-called "Hippogriff attack." She wasn't protective of the Care of Magical Creatures professor—far from it; she thought Hagrid was better off staying as the Gameskeeper—but she lost her temper all the same.

She stood. "Your father's one of the busiest men in the Ministry," she snapped, her concentration broken. "I seriously doubt he has nothing better to do with his time than listen to you whine like a little bitch, 'Little Dragon,'" she threw in what she remembered had been his mother's nickname for him as a young child for good measure. Never mind that Draco had seemingly grown a foot over the summer, or his deepening voice and emerging high cheekbones and striking features. He was still a little bitch as far as Ebony was concerned. She was in the girl's dormitory by the time Draco thought to make yet another Vampire joke.

Fifth year was when things started to shift and turn in ways that Ebony would never have predicted. In the summer while the different adults went on business trips together their teenage children were still forced to act as playmates, just as ten years prior. This year was the Quidditch World Cup, and for she, Montague, Draco and his two cronies, a fourth year named Blaise Zabini, and, blessed the powers that be, Mallory, after a day of meandering shops managed to find themselves in a Muggle tavern complete with "totally Muggle-looking" fake IDs, all in their Muggle best.

"Look at that one," Draco sneered at one point, nodding towards a blonde Muggle with an orange tan and a very short skirt. Looking at her, she could have been around eighteen. "She looks like she'd be good for a toss."

Ebony, for her part, had no idea why that stung. She didn't understand why she did another quick appraisal of the girl and silently decided she was far prettier, and didn't need to dress like a cheap slag in order to show off her assets. Instead, she laughed with everyone else and said, "Oooh. Defying Daddy's beliefs that Muggles are inferior product? I thought I'd never see the day."

"What? No. No." By this point any claims Draco had made earlier about knowing how to hold his liquor were clearly false. "Just a quick round, if you know what I mean."

Ebony hid a scowl. Mallory caught it right away and hid a smirk. Draco pressed on.

"Say, you know how Muggles talk, Ebony. What should I say to her?"

"You're going over there?" Montague said, looking both alarmed and amused.

"Yeah. She looks fit enough. What do I say?"

Ebony was proud of herself for being able to keep a straight face when she said, "Ask her if she'd like to munch on your spunk."

"Got it. Wish me luck."

Ebony smiled an raised her glass in salute as Draco slid off his stool and strutted—or rather stumbled—over to the Muggle.

"Do I want to know?" Mallory whispered in her ear.

"Just watch."

Less than a minute later Draco reappeared, his face dripping with the vodka the girl had splashed in his face. If looks could kill, Ebony would have expired on the spot. Instead she started laughing.

"I hate you, Way," Draco said as he attempted to wipe his face with his sleeve. No one else seemed to share the sentiment. In fact, it appeared that Crabbe fell off his stool in a fit of oddly high-pitched laughter.

"I'm just trying to protect the wand in your pants, Malfoy," Ebony replied, taking a sip from her own wine, which started another bout of laughter.

Odd, considering everything that happened at the World Cup, the emergence of Death Eaters and the Dark Mark, tormenting Muggles and burning tents that she would remember something so frivolous so well. Perhaps it was the moment of relative innocence before things went truly wrong.

Still, Ebony had Prefect duties and had already decided it was never too early to start studying for her O.W.L's, so she saw and heard little of him, which managed to keep her treacherous wandering mind in check. The second occurrence was during the Yule Ball, which was hardly interaction but it was a clear-cut memory that left her reeling long afterwards.

Ebony had quite a few students ask her to the Ball but she acquiesced to an eighteen-year-old Durmstrang student named Constantin who looked like a Viking warrior and spoke excellent English. He also paraded her around like a show horse and stared down the front of her dress. She defied school colours that night and wore a gown of crimson silk and taffeta to show off the contrast of her light-and-dark complexion, and that was cut to accentuate her hourglass curves. She even went the extra mile and charmed her shoes to keep from causing her pain no matter how long she danced.

Constantin turned nearly as many heads as she did, and still, for some reason, she kept glancing over at Draco Malfoy.

His robes looked rather ostentatious and he had some simpering fourth-year named Pansy or Petunia or Posy or some odd "P" flower name clinging to his arm. She knew her date was older and handsomer; big and strong, the way she usually liked them. She coaxed Constantin into every dance and, even when it initially made her uncomfortable, allowed him to put his hands on her hips, so treacherously close to her ass. She glanced around her a few times at the other couples; Viktor Krum and his date, one of Harry Potter's friends whom Draco either loathed or for had a frustrated and unwanted hard-on for, it was hard to tell sometimes, and she guessed a bit of both; Potter, looking terrified as a pretty girl with a long black plait guided him around the dance floor; the two better-looking champions with their dates. Her attention eventually fell to Draco sitting at one of the tables, with the Pansy girl on his lap and her arms wrapped around his neck and him making no move to move her away.

Ebony winced and turned her head away. _How crass_, she thought, _to make such a public display of an affection no one wants to see_. She balled her hands into fists even as she continued dancing.

"Vot is wrong?" Constantin asked.

"Nothing," she answered quickly, and added a breathless little laugh for good measure. "It's just…it's so beautiful here and now I can barely stand it."

Her date leaned in closer and murmured, "Is not as beautiful as you."

She smiled and at his words easily pushed her distractions away. At the end of the dance, she pulled him away from the dance floor and led him outside.

The kissing began almost immediately. Neither were deterred by the significant height difference and the stubble of the young man's facial hair was not unpleasant against Ebony's face and lips. Instead she gripped his massive shoulders and pulled him closer, not protesting his hands ghosting over her buttocks but as a large hand traveled and found its way to her breast, she was struck with the image behind closed eyes of Draco Malfoy; his dress robes unbuttoned and his lips on her neck, drawing ever closer to her breasts. She gasped and pulled away.

"It's—It's cold," she said quickly as he date looked at her in alarm. "I'm not sure if right here, right now is the best idea."

Her date looked a little annoyed. "I am a gentleman," he told her. "I vould never do any-sing obscene to a voman in this setting."

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." Her composure was slipping fast. "I'm just…uncomfortable right now."

He still looked slightly miffed, but said, "I understand," and as he draped his fur coat around her shoulders and took her arm in his, asked, "Vould you like to go back?"

"I'd like to head back to my dormitory, if that's all right," she said, still shaken by the image her treacherous mind had given her.

"Very well," her date said, and escorted her back. They had a few more dalliances, and a quasi-relationship of sorts that did not progress far and ended when Durmstrang left Hogwarts. Truth be told, she liked how Draco would pointedly look away when she went with Constantin to Hogsmeade or curled up close to him in the Slytherin common room, but she was more relieved when it ended. The Triwizard Tournament had ended far worse than anyone could have imagined. Cedric Diggory's death and rumours about You-Know-Who's return that she knew had to be true were more than enough for her to handle.

"So you really think You-Know-Who is back?" Mallory asked her on the train ride home.

"I'm certain of it. _We saw Cedric Diggory's body_. And Dumbledore wouldn't lie about this or throw around a rumor like that."

"True. I mean, he's weird as hell but he's not delusional. The only thing that could or would kill a student on Dumbledore's watch would be…him."

"Plus we're surrounded by future Death Eaters who don't know how to keep their mouths shut. And the Dark Mark last year? Death Eaters. Had to be. No one's released the Dark Mark in over a decade." Ebony paused and sat back. "But then Fudge is an idiot; he'll ignore it as long as he can. I mean, Merlin's Balls, they didn't even let the fact that Cedric Diggory _died_ get published."

"That was…twisted. Must've been dark magic there. And Fudge wouldn't be able to handle a crisis like this if he tried.

"But we aren't exactly You-Know-Who's targets though, are we?" Mallory said. "If he really is back, and he probably is. But he…shit, do you think he'll try and recruit our parents?"

"Maybe. Probably," Ebony said. "To make up for the losses."

"They wouldn't join," Mallory said quickly. "Yours or mine. There's Pureblood pride and then there's evil."

"Those lines keep getting blurred though." Ebony raked a hand through her hair and shrugged. "Besides, I'm not quite one hundred percent witch, now am I?"

When Ebony got home for the summer, things went exactly as she thought they might. Her parents talked to her at dinner that night, telling her that the Ministry would be doing a song-and-dance for a while, hinted at things she already knew, told her that the world was becoming a very dangerous place, and that she'd have to be very careful from now on. She waited patiently until the two had finished speaking until she said, "According to Dumbledore, You-Know-Who's been resurrected and Cedric Diggory was his first new casualty. The entire school saw the kid's body. I know just as much as you do that the world is not a safe place. If kids and teenagers are getting killed to up the death count, I know."

As the House-Elf cleaned the dinner table, Mother and Father exchanged a weary look. Father spoke first. "You know we're not…we would never hurt Muggles or Muggle-borns."

"I know."

"But there are Death Eaters who are in power; ones who will still be making money and going to social events. People your Mother and I will still have to work with and we aren't trying to be hypocritical. It's just not our battle to fight, or yours. Not yet, anyway. There might come a time where we'll have to fight."

"What we're trying to say," Mother cut in, "Is don't get close to people you know who will…follow in their parents's footsteps."

"You're talking about the Malfoys, aren't you?" Ebony said drily.

Mother stiffened. "You'd be wise not to make such statements outside of this house," she said sharply, and, after a moment, added, "And yes."

"That won't be an issue," Ebony said, and excused herself to enjoy a nice hot bath in her own private bathroom.

She passed the summer without having to endure any social events with any former/current Death Eaters or their spawn, and spent most of her social time with Mallory and her family or a couple of visiting relatives from Romania. This left her woefully unprepared for the force of her attraction when she saw Draco at the Slytherin table her first day back at Hogwarts.

He looked slender and elegant and older than his fifteen years; tall and proud with silky pale hair framing high cheekbones and a mischievous grin. Ebony cursed inwardly when he caught her staring and ducked her head as the boy's eyes widened.

This was bad. Of course. She just had to be attracted to the bloke she wanted to avoid.

She'd hoped that the introduction of yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts professor may provide a welcome distraction, but the woman—one she vaguely recognized as a prominent member of the Ministry of Magic and someone both her parents loathed and reviled with colorful profanities—ended up pontificating in a voice that sounded not unlike nails screeching across a chalkboard and throwing around phrases she guessed were a long-winded way of saying that the Ministry of Magic would be keeping as close an eye as possible on Dumbledore and everyone else. She gave up listening about two or three minutes in and compared OWL's scores with Mallory and Mallory entertained her by using her wand to temporarily etch a drawing of a toad that bore an uncanny resemblance to the new professor into the table.

About ten minutes into the feast, Mal leaned over and murmured, "Guess who looks like he wants to ravish you senseless?"

"Professor Snape," Ebony deadpanned, causing Mal to laugh so hard she almost choked.

"Malfoy!" her friend whispered. "Seriously, I think he's been taking a gander at your tits for the past two minutes."

"How classy." She downed the last of her water and watched as her goblet immediately refilled.

"Maybe you shouldn't have left the top two buttons of your blouse open," Mal said, smirking and taking a quick but very obvious glance at the bustier girl's cleavage.

Ebony shrugged. "It was getting stuffy on the train," she replied. "Besides, these days it's better to see as little of people like him as possible." Mal raised her eyebrows. "What? You agreed with me earlier."

"And I still do," she said breezily. "I'm just wondering how you can put a filter on your heart or mind."

Her best friend was treading on some dangerous waters here. "What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked, voice low and eyes narrowed.

Mal was unfazed. "You know what I mean," she said, easing her voice just the same. "And I won't bring it up again if you don't want to."

"I…" Ebony huffed, indignant, before sighing. "Be prepared never to mention it again, woman."

"Can do," Mal replied, and waved her wand a bit again, this time rendering a rather crude pair of tits.


End file.
